


Into Philadelphia

by msmaj



Series: 2019 Songfic Writing Challenge [7]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:47:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22295065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmaj/pseuds/msmaj
Summary: Sometimes, to get out of your own head, you have to get out of town. Or, Betty and Jughead take a weekend off to explore a new city.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Series: 2019 Songfic Writing Challenge [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1513286
Comments: 16
Kudos: 45
Collections: 7th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees





	Into Philadelphia

_ We’ll slip away, we’ll slip away _

_ I’ll count the days, I’ll count the days and weeks until it’s summer _

_ Baby do you wanna take a ride, wanna take a ride _

_ Into Philadelphia _

_ Think I maybe wanna take a ride, do you wanna take a ride _

_ Into Philadelphia _

_ Straight into the belly of the dream _

**Into Philadelphia- John Faye**

  
  


“Do you think maybe you want to get out of Riverdale this weekend?” His voice is soft over the phone, not like he’s trying to hide what he’s saying, but because that’s how he always speaks to her. Betty leans against the frame of the window, feet tucked up on the seat beneath her.

“I think that I definitely want to get out of Riverdale for the weekend.” Even though Jughead’s miles away at Stonewall Prep, his laughter fills her room—their room—and makes the familiar space feel more like a home than it has in a long while. “What did you have in mind?”

Jughead has been at Stonewall for three months, seventeen days, and too many minutes than she could bear to count. She knew this was his shot, even if he was a parvenu awash in an endless sea of the bourgeoisie. (See, she could be a pretentious twat too.) 

They try to make the most of their weekends together, but occupying the same space as her mother, her boyfriend’s father, and said boyfriend’s younger sister proves that nearly impossible. Hurried kisses. Fumbling, fast, furious hands grappling with too many layers, and skin seeking skin even if for the most passing of moments. Besides, the omnipresent doom that seems to pervade Riverdale doesn’t give them much time to just enjoy each other’s company.

“Do you trust me?”

“While I realize your question is completely rhetorical, it still baffles me why you think for a second you’d have to ask me that?”   


If she closes her eyes hard enough, she can picture his hand swiping across his brow. “Fine. Bring a bag when you pick me up on Friday. We’ll leave straight from here.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” 

“Cute. I should probably get going. I have two essays to write and calculus...why am I taking calculus?” Another soft laugh filters through the phone before turning into a sigh. 

Betty smiles sadly. Even their phone calls are shorter and fewer in between. “Okay, go be studious. Is there anything I should know about where we’re going or what we’re doing?”

“And here I thought your trust in me was immutable. You wound me, Cooper.”

“For packing purposes, Jones. You can’t tell me to bring a bag and not tell me what kind of stuff I should pack in it.”

“Well, less is more.” 

She gets off the window seat and makes her way toward the closet, opening the doors and thumbing through the contents. “I assume we’ll have to leave wherever it is we’re going at some point. Will that require leggings, jeans, or perhaps something a little nicer?”

He hums as if considering. “I suppose you could bring something nice...even if it only sees the floor.”

“Now, now,”’ she tuts, “ before I let you go back to the maddening world of academia, do you need me to bring anything from here?”

“I’ve got everything I need except you,” Betty feels the warm affection bloom in her chest, the space in her heart carved out exactly in his likeness. 

She tries—almost successfully—to mask the threatening tears with a cough. She can hear the sadness in his voice as he tries for her attention. “It’s not what you think, Juggie. I’m fine. Everything is fine!” The words ring even more false out loud than they do in her head.

“Which is exactly why we’re going away. Because I hate this too, Betts, but…”

“I know; I know. I’ll let you go. I know how much you have to do too.”

They can't sleep together yet, but there's solace in knowing it's coming soon and in isolation for once.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s cold in Riverdale. She assumes that wherever they’re going will be cold as well considering it can’t be too far away for a weekend trip. Betty’s glad she didn’t have to convince FP to let her use the station wagon. Apparently, whatever Jughead has planned was given the “okay” by at least one parental figure. Not that this says much, but she’s certainly not going to kick a gift horse in the mouth. She’s also glad they’ve got the vehicle with consistent heat.

Time seems to be ticking by even more slowly than it had while waiting for classes to end at Riverdale High, but in the parking lot of Stonewall Prep, time is a paradoxical construct. At least that’s what it felt like anyway. Jughead’s classes were typically over by three, same as hers, but every so often, she found herself waiting for hours—unanswered texts followed by a flurry of apologetic kisses when he finally climbed into the cab. She’s certain his new classmates just like to make her suffer by proxy. 

Today, fortunately, she waits only about twenty minutes before she sees him jogging across the lot. She slides over the bench seat as he approaches the driver’s side. Tossing his duffle bag into the back seat, he slams the door behind him, pulling her favorite red and black checkered sherpa tighter around him. 

“Cold?” she questions with a raise of her brow. His hand is on her neck, icy cold digits curling into the baby hairs at the nape, and she shrieks, trying to push him off of her but he pulls her closer instead.

“I know just the way to warm up,” and his lips are on hers. She could agree that, like this, time is most certainly a paradox. She could happily stay in this moment forever, to live in this feeling again and again and again for all of eternity: Jughead’s hands roaming her body, his tongue coaxing breathy moans that stoke a fire she cannot wait to be engulfed in. 

Jughead pulls away, Betty chasing his lips as he smiles, and presses his lips to her nose. “Definitely warm now. You ready to get the hell out of dodge?” The hand that held her neck now cups her cheek as she nods, his thumb rubbing across the apple before he grabs his seatbelt. Betty does the same and settles into the passenger seat as they make their way away from Stonewall. 

“Do I get to know our final destination yet?” His hand crosses the seat and lifts hers enough to lace their fingers together, bringing their joined hands to his lips to kiss her knuckles while he shakes his head no. 

She scoffs, in  _ mostly _ mock irritation, but doesn’t pull her hand away. Instead, still gripping one another tightly, their hands fall between them, reinforcing the physical tether which seems to be missing as of late. It’s hard to be this young and this in love under the most normal of circumstances, what with the raging hormonal impulses of teendom and the ever-pressing nature of change they’re not physiologically adept at handling yet, but against the backdrop of separate schools and merely  _ existing _ in Riverdale, it seems more fraught than it should. 

Behind them, the sun is starting to set. A flood of orange and pink fills the car; it wraps and settles around them, Jughead’s warm skin glowing in the dusk. He’s telling her about essays, the calculus exam, and how much harder it all is, but that it’s equally rewarding. He’s smiling, the easy, real smile she can never get enough of, and she feels instant guilt for every second she’s been angry at his being gone. 

More than anyone she knows, he deserves this. She  _ knows  _ that, which is why she’d been insistent and honest about his need to go. She could never have begrudged him this opportunity—even if it hurts like hell when he’s gone.

It’s in these moments of serene calm and quiet, which come so few and far between, when Betty can feel the steady beat of Jughead’s pulse against her own, that she knows—not that she doesn’t always  _ know, _ but sometimes that deep dark, insecure piece of her psyche is disquieted and she can’t help but wonder if he thinks she’s worth it. 

One particularly hard week when the stresses of trying to parent her mother and her friends and live up to the insanely high expectations everyone seems to have of her, she asked him as much. Did being with her make his life any easier, any better? She’d felt like a lead balloon, sinking and pulling everyone down with her, and she refused to let him become another Cooper Casualty. He held her while she cried, while she insisted that he pack up the rest of her room and send her on her way, because this couldn’t be good for him. He simply wiped the tears from her cheeks, carried her to their bed, and recounted all the ways she was, indeed, perfect for him. 

She smiles at the memory and feels his hand squeeze hers tighter before his fingers slip from her grasp, and she watches as they flex around the steering wheel as he merges onto I-87.

“Are we going to New York?” Betty asks, sitting up a little straighter as she looks toward the distant skyline. 

He shakes his head. “We are not. Now, no more guessing. Just enjoy the ride. For once.” She laughs but lets herself get lost in his carefully cultivated playlist. The yellow lines blur on the pavement, rushing them toward somewhere, and something, new. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There’s still a good twenty miles before they actually arrive, but she now knows their intended location.

Philadelphia. 

Betty can vaguely remember a conversation they had when they were maybe twelve, after they’d been learning about the Revolutionary War, about wanting to see the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall, but nothing more than that.

“Listen, I know. I hadn’t really been sold on it either, but I don’t think you’ll hate anything on the agenda.”

This catches her attention. She leans as far forward as the seatbelt allows while keeping her eyes fixed on him. “Agenda?”

Now, she would never say that her boyfriend wasn’t a planner; he was an idea man who knew what he wanted. Sometimes, though, he was more an adept juggler who was able to think critically and course correct when something went awry. (Well, mostly.)

“Yes, agenda: schedule, to-do list, docket. Things we are going to do and see in Philly.”

“I know what you meant, thank you. I’m just confused. Why wouldn’t you tell me where we’re going? I could have helped you!”

His brows knit as he carefully merges into the growing traffic on I-95. “Did you really think I would go through all the trouble of keeping this a surprise if I didn’t have a few tricks up my sleeve?”

“Why here? Why Philly?” 

“Why not Philly?” He was starting to sound defensive, and that wasn’t Betty’s intention. It was only genuine curiosity. 

“I’m not mad, Juggie. I’m excited, truly. It just seems like a lot to undertake when you’ve been so stressed about school, and I know I haven’t been as helpful—”

“Don’t. This is about both of us getting a much-deserved break. I didn’t say I didn’t have any help. You’re right, I couldn’t have done all of this alone. But I just wanted to do something for you.”

“Jug,” she reaches across the space between them and rubs his shoulder. “You always ‘do’ for me. I don’t need vacations, or gifts, or anything but  _ you _ .”

“I know,” his eyes flick from the road for a second to catch hers. “I know, but  _ I _ need it to be just us, even for a little while. I know it sounds silly and selfish, but Betty, I just want you to myself. For once. Just you and me”

“Okay, but for the record, I’m not going anywhere. No matter how weird things get back home, whatever psycho-killer comes to Riverdale next, or how hard it is being apart. Being with you…” her voice fails, or the words she’s trying to get out do. His hand finds hers in the ever-growing city light, thumb brushing the knuckles of her left hand as she tries to find the words.

They’ve talked about it—the future—in abstracts mostly, but she can’t help but feel absolutes when he says things like “long haul” and “you’re the one I choose.” And under the towering buildings and twinkling lights, that future doesn’t seem like a pipe dream.

Jughead’s hand slides off hers and back to the wheel as he tries to navigate the strange city. Betty smiles, confident he knows what she’d been trying to convey, and takes a moment to really survey her surroundings. 

The farther they drive into Philadelphia, the more she sees what she’s heard about the city. It certainly has the modern, monolithic skyscrapers she associates with cities of this size, but there’s something about just how many old buildings fill the spaces between them that makes it feel almost quaint. These little pockets of the past, preserved in a concrete wasteland, she can’t wait to see in the daylight. Especially as they move toward Center City, where the vestiges of colonial Philadelphia are sandwiched between the harsh neon lights of the WaWas and Wegmans. 

The streets narrow, some are actual cobblestone, as they pass through the heart of Philly. It’s not long before they pull under a large red gate, Jughead maneuvering the old station wagon into the spot marked “42C.” 

They spend their first night exploring South Street, eating their way up and down the eclectic stretch of history and hysteria. Jughead fills her in on the plans for the next day, and in their first night of true privacy in far too long, they do some personal exploration of their own. 

It’s brisk. Nearly colder than brisk. Snow falls lightly around them, softly twinkling as it catches in the golden light of Love Park. Jughead wraps an arm tightly around Betty as they make their way through the immense Christmas Village that dominates the large swath of Center City. It’s slightly overwhelming—the sheer amount of people, things to look at, things to eat— but watching Betty’s eyes shine under the twinkle lights is worth every, single, second. 

“So, tomorrow we’re going to see Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell, right?” she asks through the dark veil of her lashes, snow starting to dampen them, all rosy-cheeked from the cold.

He nods, glad he’s wearing the heaviest of his sherpa jackets and disregarded the advice of his roommate who said it was too casual for slacks. Betty isn’t in a skirt. She’s bundled in layers of wool, nestled under the crux of his arm, but it’ll catch them soon enough. Jughead hopes they’ll be home before then. 

Home. 

The word looms heavy in front of them though they dare not confront it. Tomorrow, they’ll be back in their respective beds, only miles apart in reality but what feels more like worlds apart. He tries to push it from his mind, to be in the moment with the woman who followed him without hesitation, even if it meant being surprised, but the idea of returning to a cold, empty bed in a cold, empty hall persists. 

He thinks she is, surprised that is, about coming to Philly. It surprised him too: a place to stay free of charge so long as he made an appointment to visit two colleges while he was there. Luckily for him, Betty Cooper is  _ excited  _ when he sheepishly tells her they have to go to Temple and Penn in between touring Boathouse Row and The Franklin Institute. Stonewall has these satellite studios in Boston and New York too. He wonders where else he can take her; what else can he experience by her side?

It used to be in these moments when he’d panic. The idea of anything actually lasting in his life still causes palpitations from time to time, but the anxiety is never about whether she’s by his side or not. She is. In every nightmare scenario, she’s with him, save for the ones where they’re actually being forced apart, but there is no place and time it’s not the two of them against the world. It’s this epiphany that brings him to today. He smiles to himself as he pulls her closer, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head as she gushes about their visit to the Mütter Museum and Philadelphia Museum of Art earlier in the day.

“We’re also going to eat our way through Reading Terminal Market,” he waggles his brows emphatically, and the laughter bubbles out, shaking him along with her. Jughead Jones might be the only person in the world who gets to experience this Betty. The real Betty. The one who laughs at his corny jokes, who ensures he knows he’s worthwhile and worthy of love, who solves mysteries at the expense of her family and her sanity, and who only knows sacrifice yet sees so little reward. It wouldn’t be like her to ask for one, or for the break they both so desperately needed, but he couldn’t bear to hear her voice breaking on one more phone call. Not when, at least on his front, she has nothing to worry about. 

“Jug,” her voice is like warm honey as she pulls a gloved hand from her pocket and entwines her fingers with his as it hangs over her shoulder. “Think maybe we can get some food right now? I don’t want to leave again tonight after we get back.”

“Oh no?”

“Nope,” she says popping the “p” and turning her face toward his. “I just noticed there was a fireplace in the living room, and the last time we tried anything involving a fireplace, we ended up having a movie night with our entire extended family.”

He remembers that particular night. He does not plan on repeating it. Her lashes flutter against his neck as the heat of her breath sends a shiver down his spine. “Right, food. Let’s do that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The snow’s been picking up. What started as a soft, gauzy curtain now fully blankets the city in a sparkling white chrysalis. They’re on the couch, wrapped up in blankets and each other, watching as the snow falls onto the courtyard outside their window. The frost gives the glass an almost frame, their bodies reflected in the twinkling firelight perfectly centered in the pane.

He and Betty have shared many moments since that day in her bedroom, most good and some not-so-good, but every second has made them what they are today. He’s the first to admit that, in the beginning, he was certain things would end between them before either got too invested. (Well, before  _ she _ got too invested. He was one-hundred percent all in from the get-go.)

Being away has made him realize a few things. First, while money can buy a lot of things, it has no bearing on taste. Case in point, the cafeteria at Stonewall Prep. Gourmet it may be, but it doesn’t hold a candle to Pop’s. And second, as dysfunctional as his family unit is, and it really, really is, he  _ knows _ love. His father loves him and is actually getting better at showing it, and though the fear of him falling off the wagon never really goes away, it’s lessened to a manageable degree. Jellybean is home and doing mostly well—as well as any thirteen-year-old who’s seen and done the things she’s already been forced to do can be. Alice is Alice, but at least she’s around. Not that her doing so provides him, or Betty for that matter, any comfort, but it gives some semblance of normalcy they’ve all been desperate to recapture. 

And Betty? He smiles against her lips, hands twisting in her golden hair as her eyes flutter open.

“What?” Her voice is breathy as his fingers slide from her mane of curls. Jughead scoots toward the arm of the chair, reaching for his discarded jacket, while she adjusts the blanket over her shoulder, an inquisitive quirk of her brow reiterates the question she just asked.

“Do you remember when I was being especially dramatic?”

“Oh, which time, Jug? There are literally so many possibilities.”

Lunging forward, he wraps his arms around her waist and hauls her into his lap. He doesn’t tickle her, just readjusts the blanket that slid in the move and drops his arms to settle right above her hips. Betty’s are wrapped around his neck, fingers twining the hairs at the nape of his neck between her slender fingers. 

“You were being dramatic?” she questions. The fire glows behind her, amber and ember amidst the growing tundra outside.

He exhales one long, slow, steady breath. “When I asked you to marry me.”

Betty’s forehead creases as their eyes meet. A confused laugh escapes. “Jughead, what are you talking about? You’ve never…”

Words cease falling from her lips as he slides his decidedly not-empty hand along her side and holds the small box between them. Betty’s hands fall from around his neck and immediately find their way in front of her face.

“This is not some impromptu proposal. It’s not because we’re finally alone and in the heat of some moment I ask you to marry me. I’ve thought, been thinking, about this almost every day since I left Riverdale High. Not necessarily asking you, per se, but more like the realization that an entire lifetime of achievements and accomplishments means nothing if you’re not by my side.”

“Jug,” her voice is a lost whisper amongst the crackling logs and howling wind. He takes the ring from the box, a dainty opal in an antique setting, and gently pulls her left hand from her mouth. 

“There is nothing I want more than a future with you. I told you once we were on borrowed time, and I have never been happier to be proven wrong in my life. I bought this ring three weeks ago and tried to convince myself I wasn’t going to do this until after graduation–that there was something fundamentally wrong with getting engaged in high school. And I get it; I do. We are completely surrounded by marriages marred by too much time and not enough knowledge. But I know the you inside of you, and I love her as much as she loves the deepest, darkest parts of me. Marry me, Betty Cooper. Today. Tomorrow. Some fixed point in the not-too-distant future. Don’t make me wait.”

He steadies the ring at the tip of her finger, holding his breath until he feels her hand sliding forward. The “yes” she all but breathes against his lips is swallowed by his kiss. She pulls away long before he’s ready to admire the stone against her skin. The smile on her face is worth every second of doubt. Turning, she shifts to be sat between his legs, leaning her head against his chest. 

Her sigh is one of contentment as she holds her hand up in front of them. The ring looks more right on her finger than he ever dared to hope. He can feel the millions of things racing through her mind across the silence. Entwining her newly embellished hand with his, he pulls them to her chest and presses a kiss to the crown of her head. Tomorrow, before they’re forced back to their separate realities, they’ll discuss it, but tonight, tonight is for them and their love. Which they prove to one another over and over again. 

**Author's Note:**

> I realize it is now 2020, but, there are still oh-so-many songfics to write. Sorry folks; you're not rid of me yet ;) 
> 
> All of the thank yous to Cat, @BettyCooper, for her diligence and incredible insight and making this comprehensible! Rock. Star. <3


End file.
